


Double Blood

by bettysugars_writes



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:09:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26147710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bettysugars_writes/pseuds/bettysugars_writes
Summary: betty tends to jughead’s wounds, while simultaneously hurting herself.
Relationships: Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Kudos: 11





	Double Blood

My phone emanates a disturbing silence.

He should’ve called. Or texted. Anything. One minute sign that could assure my body into a wakened version of the feeling I get right before I sleep. When lethargy envelopes my body and I no longer struggle to close my eyes. They just sit there. And I feel cozy, his fingers softly drilling into my shoulder, the tips spiraling me into sleep. He knows not to worry me like this. He knows how insane I get (almost as insane as when he bites my lip, but that’s besides the point). So at this point, now that his phone has been blown up by five missed calls and probably triple the texts, I know something’s wrong. 

Time passes.

Then I hear it.

The soft hum. It’s probably a few roads away, but I know that it’s his motorcycle. I know that sound from the dusk to midnight trips we take on the weekends. Sometimes it’s what I hear first thing in the morning, after he’s done his signature kiss to my temple and rode off before my parents find us in bed. Maybe I heard it in my dreams.

He parks askew. When he lifts his helmet, I see his mop of black wavy hair come tumbling down. Per usual, it falls into his eyes, but he doesn’t brush it away. His joints bend slowly and when he steps off, he grimaces. 

I’m already running downstairs.

“Juggy?” I mumble. I try to sound angry, but it doesn’t work.  
He looks up. His left eye twitches. He looks apologetic.  
I walk up to him and my stomach flutters like I’ve just done a thousand crunches. 

I throw my arms around his neck, burying my head into the crevice just below his jaw. Relief follows our embrace, but not much. My tears sting. My lips quiver out a muffled whimper. Jughead sighs a deep huff that blows right past my ear. I feel his Adam’s Apple bob in a deep swallow before speaking.  
“Betts...my ribs.”  
“Oh...,” I release myself from him in a convulse. “Fuck.” I mumble.

I hurt him.

“Hey,” he grimaces (it’s quick, but I catch it) and tilts my head up with one finger so he can meet my eyes. “You could never hurt me.”  
I let my gaze drop to his torso. The fabric on his shirt is torn. 

When I get him to the bathroom, I seat him on the toilet. Then I throw open the medicine cabinet behind the mirror. I push aside capsules and boxes until I finally find a bottle of Bactirin and few cotton balls. As I bring the antibacterial ointment to my chest, I feel it jolt. My heart is beating. Harshly. When I close the cabinet and look in the mirror, I feel numbness in my toes. I look frazzled. My skin is pale.

“Let me just...take off your shirt.” I stutter. My voice is cracked and hollow. With shaking fingers, I untuck his t-shirt from his jeans and lift it up over him. I try to be gentle. But I can hardly focus anymore. My vision tunnels and discoloration blends what little or what I can see. I’m blind with worry. His chest atones to a small scrape or two. But the real mess is his ribs. 

The entire left side is purple. It looks like a poor makeup job or a sidelined toddler’s crayon scribbles. The right side isn’t as bad, but has what looks like a sprinkling of love marks. Like I left hickeys on his ribs. 

I’m scared.

I engage my core as I begin to both externally and internally tremble. My breaths shoot out in mini explosions at lightning speed as my stomach squeezes, trying to take away his pains. My hands are occupied, grasping the wound cleaning supplies, so instead of scarring my palms, I move to the next best thing: The inside of my cheeks. My teeth hold the skin between them I dip a cotton ball in the ointment. I grind my teeth. I touch it to his chest. I grind my teeth. He clenches his muscles, the tendons and cords in his arms protruding for a moment. I bite harder at the visibility of his pain. The skin slips. I taste blood. 

“Does it hurt?” I ask.  
“Betty.” He says.  
I shut my eyes and bite as hard as I can. 

I drop the bottle, I drop the bag of cotton balls. They both hit the tile at my feet. I tip over to the sink and grab the porcelain. I think maybe I’ll crack it. I’ll break it, I decide, and use it to kill whoever hurt him. I taste more blood. I choke out a sob.

“Betty!” Jughead uses the rack of towels to help himself up. He slowly unhooks my hands from the sides of the sink. He cups them in his and presses them to my stomach.   
“What’s wrong, love?” He whispers.

For a moment, I get chills. I feel a slight tickle over my collarbone. But then, looking the mirror, I can see the very edges of his ribs. 

“Jug, what happened?” I choke out.   
He sighs. “I’ll you in a moment. But please, calm down. Just clean my cuts and then I’ll...” he sighs again. “Cuddle with you. If you want.”   
I chuckle airily, and he kisses the nape of my neck.  
“I have to get you to the hospital.” I say, my diaphragm still shaking.  
“The hospital can wait fifteen minutes.” He says. 

I tell him to sit down. He listens. I clean out his cuts and do everything in my power to tend to his ribs. Then, after his permission, he lets me sit on his lap and run my fingers through his hair. I know he wouldn’t say it didn’t hurt to be on him, even if it did. Then I kiss him softly. I feel him slip his tongue into my mouth before I can protest. I grow nervous. He pulls away with a loud slip.

“You taste like blood.” He whispers. His ice blue eyes scan mine desperately.  
“It’s okay.” I smile.  
He cups my cheek, the same side that I shredded. He caresses it.

We sit on my bed. The ceiling twirls sickeningly. I feel his presence brush me. When he gently bites my lip, it’s hard for me to resist climbing into his lap. Instead, I break away, regain saliva, and tell him that it’s time to go to the hospital.

_fin


End file.
